'Yo, me again :) Sorry for the delay but that, in essence, is my life /: lol -(even though it's not funny at all to be honest)- Hope it was bearable and I hope you all enjoy this chapter :)'
Chapter Eleven
Andrea glanced down at their hands then back up at his face, growing all the more wary at the twisted and dark expression on his face.
Daryl tore his eyes from the broken skin to Sophia's still tear-stained face and forced his muscles to relax, expression becoming unreadable.
"Daryl?" Andrea called gently, giving his hand a squeeze and tilting her head, "What...what's wrong?"
He jerked his head to the right, "Over here." Daryl demanded, tugging her away but Sophia held her still—well, she tried, she did weigh next to nothing.
"You promised!" She exclaimed with a hint of anger in her tone, wide eyes on the blonde, "You promised."
Andrea grimaced, she was torn; she despised breaking promises but she'd much rather know the problem herself first.
"Um..." Andrea cleared her throat, throwing the girl a warm smile, "...let Daryl and I talk first, okay sweetheart?" she bargained hopefully, stroking Sophia's cheek lightly.
Daryl dragged her away by the wrist before the child could answer but instead of speaking he dropped her hand and began to pace up and down, hands on his hips.
Andrea swayed on the spot and he dashed forwards, catching hold of her just in time.
She grappled at him, clinging tightly, unstable, "Whoa..." Andrea breathed, wide eyed and licking her dry lips, "Guess that answers my previous question."
Daryl merely stared at her, guarded and relentless and apologetic.
Andrea felt the dread fill her, "Wh-what is it? Why—Daryl, why are you looking at me like that?" she queried, anxious and quivery.
He remained silent and stoic.
"Damn it!" Andrea smacked his chest, "Seriously, Dixon you're freakin' me the fuck out!"
In response, Daryl grasped her right arm and held it up to her face, "What's tha' look like tae you?"
Bending her arm into her chest, Andrea's face paled even further at the sight of the uneven, jagged tear running from her elbow up about three inches long.
She raised her eyes to his face, orbs slowly going blue before his own as they welled with hot, salty tears, "I...I didn't—" she swallowed thickly, squeezing her eyes closed, "I don't even know which one..." watery eyes glanced around at the three corpses, "I didn't feel it."
Daryl watched one solitary tear make its way over her high cheekbone and down the sun-kissed skin and was struck by an unexpected desire to reach out and brush it away.
Clearing her throat, Andrea inhaled shakily, closed her eyes and then turned her head back to him. When she reopened her lids and looked into his eyes the moisture was gone from her own—only the tell-tale glistening shimmer left behind—and the green hue he favoured so much was returning.
"Andrea..." he breathed but was at a loss for words to say.
Andrea smiled sadly at him and stated with frightening resignation, "I've been scratched...by a Walker."
Daryl flinched subtly at her words and he took a step closer instead of the predictable and expected step back.
There was only acceptance in her eyes but if Daryl looked that little bit closer he could see the bitterness lurking beneath. She no longer wanted to die—at least not this way—and was now slowly doing just that.
Andrea's gaze found his crossbow and she nodded too it, "You have to kill me, Daryl."
He flinched again, this time more obviously, "Whoa, hey..." Daryl shook his head at her despite having had that very same thought himself, "...slow down, Blondie. Let's be sure 'fore ye go offin' yersel'."
She arched an elegant brow at him questioningly.
Daryl scowled at her, "A sure as hell ain't gonna do it!" he barked fiercely then pushed her gently back into the nearest tree trunk, "Don' move."
"Wait." Andrea countered sharply, tugging him back by the shirt, "Daryl stop, what else could it be?" she wondered sceptically, eyebrows both raised.
His mouth hung open once again at a loss.
Andrea licked her lips and swallowed, "Exactly, so either you do it or I do it myself but I am not going back to that farm."
Daryl frowned deeply, "Why the hell not?!"
"I won't put you and Sophia in danger like that." She insisted stubbornly, "I'm infected, Daryl. I'm a ticking time bomb!"
Daryl glared hatefully when she said that word and exhaled, "Jus'..." he held up one hand and met her determined gaze just a little bit of pleading seeping through, "...gimme a minute, yeah?"
Pressing her lips together, Andrea gave a small nod, slowly releasing his shirt from her fist. He ran off towards the nearest of the three corpses.
Andrea heaved a weary sigh and pressed her right hand to her side. It was wet with blood immediately and she cringed.
"Andrea?"
The blondes eyes darted up to find her charge coming towards her, "No!" Andrea ordered before she could stop herself, holding up her free hand, "Sophia, no stay there."
The girl frowned deeply, pouting and crossing her arms over her chest, "Why!?" Sophia demanded sounding surprisingly both firm and stern.
Andrea smirked for just a second at the childs sass, then her face fell again, "I've been scratched Sophia so...stay away."
Sophia stopped dead at that revelation and her face paled, "Noooo..."
Andrea's heart broke in her chest, "Oh, Sophia..." she breathed feeling her eyes well and her chest tighten.
"It's not fair!" Sophia exclaimed, stomping her foot like the child she was and shaking her head vigorously. Tears were already rolling down her dirt smeared cheeks.
"Sit down sweetie." Andrea ordered weakly, her voice unsteady again and now laced with her own angry tears, "Sit, Sophia." She repeated, pointing at the ground and briefly registered that it sounded more like she was addressing a dog than a child.
The little girl silently slid down to her knees obediently, teeth worrying her bottom lip.
Briefly closing her eyes, Andrea pressed more securely down on her still heavily bleeding side. She felt nauseous and dizzy and with a pained wince, Andrea slid slowly down the tree trunk to the ground.
Daryl snatched up the partially decomposed hands, checking under the broken fingernails for any slivers of human flesh but there was nothin' except dirt. He checked the teeth too just in case but still found no human flesh in any of the walkin' corpses. The gnarly things hadn't eaten in days by the looks of it.
They hadn't cut Blondie, she wasn't infected.
Daryl released a heavy sigh a bowed his head, sending up a silent prayer of thanks to anyone who was listening. He lifted his head when a thought occurred; Blondie may not be infected but she was stubborn as hell. The aggravating woman would demand some other explanation and the lawyer in 'er would need evidence to support that explanation and with a maddened growl Daryl began searching the forest floor.
He found it where she'd fallen.
There was a sharp, pointed rock in the dirt with fresh blood across its jagged edge. That was the cause.
Still on one knee, Daryl closed his eyes and exhaled with pure relief. The unbending evidence against her thought–to-be imminent death made him believe it more. That simple thought of her being infected, of knowing what she would slowly and painfully become and what would have to be done about it...what he would have to do apparently, it had just felt wrong. More wrong than if it had been anyone else, himself included.
Daryl couldn't stand the thought of Andrea turnin' into one of those filthy, disease-bearin', poxy bastards. And now he wouldn't have to watch it happen.
Well, thank fuck for that.
"Hey, Blondie guess wha'?" Daryl called with a smirk rising up—rock in hand—and turnin' to her but she wasn't where he left her, well she wasn't on her feet and her eyes were closed.
"Fuck." Daryl cursed darkly, "Andrea!" he snapped urgently, boots pounding on the ground, crunching the leaves as he ran for her.
"Andrea?!" Daryl dropped to one knee in front of her and gave the woman a shake, "Hey?! C'mon girl look at me."
There was still a deep grimace marring her pale features so she was still conscious.
Daryl's hands jumped to her face, "Andrea?" he called gently and her dull orbs slowly opened.
"Hi..." she rasped out in barely a whisper, her lids falling closed again.
"Noooo..." he drawled deeply, patting her cheek, "Keep those pretty eyes open, Blondie." Daryl ordered, the compliment just slipping out.
A lazy smile pulled at Andrea's lips as her eyes fluttered open again and she gazed into his, "You think...my eyes are...pretty?" her smile widened when she tilted her head at him, "I like...your eyes too."
Daryl's features grew more troubled when he tore his gaze from her face to examine her wound again; there was more blood loss and despite her pressing on it the red liquid continued to ooze out from between her fingers.
"Yer losin' blood, Andrea." He told her grimly, reaching for her bag he'd abandoned by the tree beside her, "A lot. Fast."
Andrea's lazy grin fell slowly and she bristled; so far he'd only called her by her actual name when things got 'Dixon serious' which was pretty dire in everyone else's book.
She inhaled deeply, "Yeah...I'm kinda feeling that right now." Andrea admitted with a flinch, hissing and closing her eyes when he lifted her top.
Daryl tore away the bandages and growled; what were once merely holes were now deep tears in her flesh that really like to bleed.
"Damn it, Goldilocks!"
Andrea growled back, as it seemed like he'd chosen to use 'Goldilocks' when he was angry with her, for something entirely out of her control.
Daryl lifted his head so their eyes could meet, "This is bad. Hell if I know what's goin' on with yer insides as well. Fuck." He cursed again, glaring.
With a wince, Andrea swallowed hard with a shrug, "Doesn't matter...I'm a dead woman anyway."
He glared at that too then defiantly held up the guilty rock, "Sorry darlin' but that ain't true."
Her face exploded with bewilderment, "What?"
Daryl waved it in the air then placed the rock in her left hand, "Walkers' are clean, got no flesh under their nails or in their teeth." He glanced fleetingly at her face, tryin' to read her eyes so he'd know where her head was at, "They didn't get ye, Blondie."
Andrea's eyes, pouring with disbelief, snapped up to his all wide and glistening.
He nodded to the rock in hand and she looked down at it, tilting her head curiously.
"That's yer blood, Andrea." Daryl explained simply, when he got the feeling that she couldn't quite grasp the new reality being presented to her, "Ye ain't infected."
She frowned deeply then shook her head and breathed, "Oh..." eyebrows rising, eyes wide.
Daryl pressed fresh gauze—since the previous ones were completely saturated—down firmly, watching as she didn't even register the pain. He narrowed his eyes, wiped his hands hastily on his pants, then grabbed her face, "Hey, Andrea ye ain't gonna die. Hear it, believe it, feel it then get over it."
She simply stared into his eyes unblinking, her blue orbs full of fresh salty tears, "But I...I thought..." Andrea trailed off numbly, bringing both hands up to grip his wrists. She was shaking her head again, mouth agape but silent.
She couldn't find the words but he knew what she was trying to say. It was in her eyes; the pure, untamed relief but the lingering regret too. Sure she was grateful she wasn't gonna become a monster but at the same time, that meant that she was stuck here, in hell, with the rest of them. Definition of bittersweet.
Daryl's thumbs stroked her cheeks without his say and he whispered with a nod, "I know."
The tears fell and her shoulders shook but she didn't make a sound. The trembling got worse though so Daryl dropped his hands, twisted to the side and tapped her a little.
Hands hanging at her chest, Andrea fell against him and closed her eyes, one limp hand curling around his shirt, grasping it in a tight fist.
Daryl said nothing. He settled beside her, right hand squeezing her calf with his eyes focused on her side, wondering how the hell he was gonna slow that bleedin' down long enough to get 'er to Herschel before she bled to death.
~T.W.D~
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Rachel xoxo'